


Hostage of a Nameless Feeling

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-06
Updated: 2006-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean discovers a secret of Sam's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Hostage of a Nameless Feeling  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean; mentions of Sam/OMC  
**Rating:** NC-17; language, graphic m/m sexual content, incest  
**Word Count:** 2, 480  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own them. *hides kripke Halloween costume*   
**Summary:** Dean discovers a secret of Sam’s.   
**Notes:** Prompt 009 for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/sam_slut_a_thon/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/sam_slut_a_thon/)**sam_slut_a_thon** ; _bottom!Sam_.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The walk back to the motel was shorter than Sam remembered. It started raining almost as soon as his feet pounded up the flight of stairs, soaking him through to the bone, and he shivered in the downpour as his fingers clenched around the room key. He fell inside on a gust of water and wind, shaking his head and blinking through his lashes.  
  
“Have fun?”  
  
There was no missing the raw edge in Dean’s voice, the danger lurking just beneath the carefully controlled veneer of his brother’s expression, but Sam could only sink back against the door in relief. The fact that Dean _was_ angry meant he was reachable, and Sam knew exactly how to handle this aspect of his brother’s personality. At least, he hoped he did.  
  
“A blast,” he answered monotonously, a little non-laugh escaping from between clenched teeth. He felt cold, filthy, exhausted, but there was a nervous energy thrumming just under his skin that wouldn’t let him settle down. It was only magnified when he hazarded a glance up to find Dean watching him; eyes mere slits, fingers working jerkily as he dismantled his weapon. Dean dropped the last piece on the table with a thud, wiping his hands on a greasy cloth, and then leaned back in his chair.   
  
“Think it’s time you told me everything, Sam.”  
  
Sam couldn’t mistake his meaning. And suddenly, the _last_ thing he wanted to do was have this conversation with Dean. He pushed off the door, brushing past Dean and heading toward the bathroom where he begged off, “Gonna take a shower. Feel disgusting.”  
  
“You should, letting that guy put his hands all over you,” Dean snapped, and the emotion crackling in his voice was enough to freeze Sam where he stood. He turned around, finding Dean staring at him with an almost lost expression underneath his anger, and the fist around his heart loosened.  
  
He took a deep breath, holding Dean’s accusing stare and saying softly, “You can yell at me all you want. I can’t change what happened.”  
  
A multitude of emotions warred across Dean’s expression, and then his brother’s muscles relaxed and he hooked his fingers in a belt loop and cocked a hip against the dresser.  
  
“Get on the fucking bed, Sam.”  
  
Sam’s relief frayed into a million threads at the crackle in Dean’s voice. “W-What?”  
  
“On the bed, Sam,” Dean repeated, words clipped and meaningful. He jerked his belt free from the loops with a soft snick, the leather slashing through the air before landing in a curled heap at Dean’s feet. “I’m not asking again.”  
  
A sarcastic reply clogged in Sam’s throat - _I didn’t hear you ask_ ; judging by the hard glitter in Dean’s eyes, provoking him further wouldn’t be in Sam’s best interest. A not entirely unpleasant shiver worked its way down his spine as he turned toward the king-sized bed. As he lifted a knee onto the mattress, Dean’s voice rang out again.   
  
“Facedown.”  
  
Sam shot a look over his shoulder and found Dean still leaning against the dresser, pants unzipped, hand roughly palming himself. His features were flushed and angry, and yet there was a distinct vulnerability present. It was as if Dean was waiting for Sam to walk right back out of the motel room, to reject Dean and everything he was offering.  
  
Again.  
  
There was a rough inhalation when he slid forward, shoulders pressed down to the bed, hips canted up to the ceiling. His shirt rucked up in the back and he felt the kiss of cool air brush his skin, immediately chased by the hot brand of Dean’s gaze.  
  
“Don’t move.” Dean’s voice was lower than before, thick and gritty, and Sam’s breath hitched as he fought not to squirm against the sheets while the sounds of his brother undressing punctuated the silence. His fingers clenched, grasping handfuls of well-worn cotton, and he twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of naked flank as Dean approached.  
  
“You were fucking him,” was all Dean said, not touching him, hovering just beyond reach. The distance didn’t matter, because Sam could _feel_ the last time he’d had Dean above him, inside him, and he was already throbbing in preparation. He barely registered Dean’s words, rolling his hips and hissing as the denim tightened across his groin.  
  
He reached down to adjust himself, lip caught between his teeth, only to have his hand slapped away and his face mashed into the pillows. He let out a soft grunt, bucking instinctively, panting and half-furious as Dean’s touch gentled into a slow and steady sweep. “Dean,” he managed hoarsely.  
  
“You were fucking him,” Dean said again, harder, fingers working at the button on Sam’s jeans. “How long?”  
  
“Dean…” he keened, arching into his brother’s hand as he slid it between the cinch of denim and Sam’s belly.  
  
“Tell me.” Dean’s words were as coaxing as his touch, and Sam breathed deep and stretched beneath his brother’s hands.  
  
“’Bout a week,” he admitted, a near whisper as his jeans were tugged just below his hips. He tried not to make a sound, tried to stay still, but then it suddenly didn’t matter because Dean was _there_ \- kneeling behind him, shin pressing down and holding Sam in place with the taut denim around his spread-wide knees.   
  
"When?" A soft, wet sound followed, and Sam nearly jumped straight in the air when a blunt fingertip slid down the crease of his ass, the slick-slide of saliva leaving behind a rapidly cooling trail of gooseflesh.  
  
Every muscle tense with conjoined anticipation and anxiety, Sam inched back, on the verge of feeling that finger pressed right up against an ache he hadn’t sated in far too fucking long, but Dean moved with him. Keeping just out of reach; a sadistic tease that had Sam cursing into the pillow and fisting his hands in the sheets.  
  
“What do you want me to say?” he hissed.  
  
On the heels of his question, what he could now distinguish as Dean’s thumb jammed up and inside of him, sending him jerking forward on a long, surprised groan as his cock swelled and dripped. It was just a thumb; not even enough to stretch him, but enough to make him _feel_ it. And the fury Dean was trying so hard to temper.  
  
Dean’s hand came around to close around his dick, squeezing a series of rough gasps from Sam’s throat, and he brought his mouth right up to Sam’s ear to whisper, “He ever do this for you? You let him know how much you like fingers up your ass, you fucking slut?” His thumb continued to slide in and out, gently scraping Sam’s insides, and Sam shut his eyes and whimpered.  
  
“You’re still so tight…he didn’t stretch you near enough, did he, baby?” Another finger teased at the heart of him, gathering sweat and spit before spearing in on a burning thrust. Sam sucked in, driving back, and Dean let out a laugh that was devoid of amusement. “God, you’re so fucking _hot_ for it, aren’t you, Sam? Did you even make him get you ready first, or just take his dick any way you could get it?”  
  
“I…” Sam couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. Not with Dean working him wide open with dirty fingers and filthy words. Instead, he offered himself up and keened, “H-harder. Please…”  
  
The next finger was a violent intrusion that had him biting back a choked cry. The fist around his dick stroked in soft counterpoint, searching for the evidence of his reaction even as Dean hummed and murmured, “Tell me.”  
  
Frustration welled up inside of him, and he wiggled his hips. “Fuck me.”  
  
“Tell me, Sam.” No inflection at all.  
  
Sweat was stinging his eyes, soaking the collar of his shirt, and he clenched his teeth before admitting, “Never…had him. That way. _Damn it._ ”  
  
The steady strokes slowed, a heavy silence filled the air, and then the thrusts returned with a vengeance as Dean’s voice went a full two notches deeper than Sam thought possible. “What way, Sam?”  
  
“Nnnnever let him…fuck me,” Sam gasped, giving up and dropping his head between bowed shoulders. “Fucked him, never let him…just you… _Jesus_.”  
  
Dean’s sharp inhalation felt like a sick victory, and Sam went lax as his brother trembled above him, inside him, vibrating like a plucked string. “You never…why the _fuck_ not, Sammy?”  
  
It wasn’t anger coloring Dean’s voice, but it was something like it. Confusion, exasperation…Sam didn’t know or care. It was almost a relief, really, to surrender to what he wanted and just let Dean _take_. “Yours,” he slurred, lashes and hips fluttering. “Always been.”  
  
There was another suspended moment where he wasn’t sure if he’d fucked up or succeeded, and then Dean’s fingers slid out with a slick _pop_ and he was hauling Sam up higher, mouthing the base of his spine and whispering, “Goddamn right. Gonna fuck you so hard…never forget it again…”  
  
Sam couldn’t even cry out at the first brush of Dean’s tongue, just shook and held on as the necessary words swirled and congealed in his head, as wet, slippery heat circled and dipped. Stretched and pulled open.   
  
“S’like I can still fucking taste me in you,” Dean managed, palming and licking rough and deep.   
  
“God, yeah.”  
  
Calloused hands gripped his balls, tugging, sliding back up and over his dick. “So close,” Dean murmured, dark satisfaction thrumming in his voice. “"Gonna blow, Sammy?"  
  
“Blow _you_ ,” Sam growled, twisting and trying to catch the look on Dean’s face.  
  
“Not gonna pass up free lube,” Dean said easily, like the idea of Sam’s mouth on him, sucking him dry, drooling on his cock didn’t even _matter_. It was a fucking challenge if Sam’d ever heard one, and when his brother rolled over – hands behind his head, eyes lidded and gleaming – Sam narrowed his own and sat up.  
  
The grin Dean slanted him was just this side of dangerous. He bucked lean hips off the mattress, drawing Sam’s attention to the thick length of cock against the flat of his belly, and Sam swallowed. “What’re you waiting for?”  
  
“Not a damn thing.” Sam settled back on Dean’s thighs, bending to tease the hardened knot of Dean’s nipple with his tongue. A hand fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to have him hissing, and he glanced up to find Dean shaking his head.  
  
There was a slight tremor in his brother’s voice when he said, “Don’t play games. Suck my dick.”  
  
Sam licked his lips, the heady rush of defiance once again buzzing through his veins, and he lowered his head again to suck and nip at Dean’s chest. This time, there was no warning before Dean’s hands were in his hair, shoving him down until his breath coasted over the flushed head of Dean’s cock.  
  
“Open your mouth,” Dean said, fingers splayed across Sam’s cheek. “Get it good and wet, because that’s all you’re getting when I fuck you. Understand?”  
  
Sam couldn’t keep back the groan, hips jerking between Dean’s leg and the bed. He took Dean’s cock into his mouth, stretching his jaw around the full length until his vision went wet and blurry. For a long moment he stayed still, relishing the press of Dean against the back of his throat, the bittersweet flavor of his brother heavy on his tongue. Dean’s fingers moved only slightly in his hair, and Sam slowly pulled back. Dean was so hot, like he’d been out in the sun, and Sam drew on him with long, slow sucks. Every burst of hips, every stuttered grunt and groan was a triumph to be reckoned with.   
  
It wasn’t until he heard the slurred “Sammy” that he pulled off and stared up at Dean, invitation written in his eyes. A second later, he was sprawled across Dean’s lap, chest-to-chest, bottom lip between Dean’s as his brother humped up against his ass and squeezed his shoulders.  
  
“Dean…” he managed between hot licks at his mouth. “ _Fuck_ me, _do_ it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed hoarsely, hands falling to Sam’s waist. He dug in, jerking Sam upward and back. “C’mere.” Sam went willingly, sliding until the head of Dean’s dick pressed against his asshole.  
  
Dean’s eyes glittered, lashes shadowing his cheeks. “Fuck yourself on me,” he said, dared, watching Sam’s expression like he was expecting Sam to refuse. Sam just held his gaze, reaching between his legs to get a firm grip on Dean’s cock, and then pushed back. Copper burst across his tongue as his teeth sank deep, ass burning and stretching wide around the head of Dean’s dick.  
  
Dean’s chest was rising and falling in shallow rhythm, fingers digging into Sam’s hips so hard Sam could _feel_ the blood rising to the surface. He slid down further, letting out a little strenuous sigh. He lifted up, hands splayed across Dean’s chest as he pumped himself back down. Once, twice, until he felt the answering thrust of Dean’s hips and looked down to see his brother licking chewed-pink lips.  
  
“Dean.” He rose up again, breath catching.  
  
Dean’s lids grew heavier. “Yeah?”  
  
Sam leaned forward, gasping at the new angle and dropping his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Missed you…this.” It was more than he could afford to admit, but it slipped out anyway, and he felt Dean go rigid beneath him.  
  
“Jesus, Sam.” His brother’s voice cracked. Then Dean’s arms were wrapping around him, and Sam was pulled down as Dean thrust up, hard and fast, letting out little half-grunts of desperation that tugged at Sam’s heart and split him open. “You fucking… _you_ left. Don’t say that like…”  
  
He broke off on a sobbing groan, and Sam sat up on his haunches, fingernails working Dean’s nipples. “It didn’t mean anything,” he whispered, unsure if he’s talking about James or Stanford or a thousand other arguments they’ve had throughout their lives. “Never did. Just this.”  
  
And Dean finally broke, throat bared and pulsing, eyes closed and mouth wide open as he slammed up into Sam and froze. Sam felt the hot rush of come, squeezed down and wrapped his hand around his own dick to finish the job. It only took a few seconds of roughly jacking himself before warm splashes jettisoned across his palm, Dean’s stomach.  
  
His brother’s voice was fucked-out and thready, sandpaper raw against Sam’s neck as he said, “It’s over?”  
  
Sam didn’t feign confusion. Just rocked against Dean, tangled in limbs, sweat, and come. “Yeah,” he answered, as whisper-soft as the question had been. “It’s done.”  
  
He didn’t bother asking how Dean had found out, and Dean didn’t demand any more details on the matter. Just reached up and dragged Sam’s mouth down, pressing a warning with teeth and tongue against his lips that Sam heard as clear as day.   
  
One he’d take to heart this time.


End file.
